I ALWAYS used to have a soft spot for Prince Harry.
And wading through his memoir, Spare, reading about his early years, I am reminded why.
He was somewhat mischievous, irreverent — a kind of gregarious misanthrope.
I had empathy for this young man who didn’t quite fit in.
No one could possibly deny the impact that dreadful event had on his childhood and the rest of his life.
It’s what anchors his book and from which all his decisions and opinions stem.
And I wonder if it was this that caused his attitude towards women.
His language about them in his book is at times bordering on brutal and at others, dismissive.
His view of women appears to be of a group of one-dimensional people — either objectified or dismissed.
There to be used for his own gratification but rarely respected.
With almost the only exception being his granny, our late Queen.
His teenage years have him talking about his matrons at school in terms of how “horny” they made him feel.
He refers to “crushes” and them suddenly being “hot”.
Apart from, that is, the one they all cruelly bullied because of her disability.
He also comments on all the “pretty girls” in a university prospectus.
Plus we have to bear witness to the loss of his virginity to an older woman who treated him like a “young stallion” then “smacked” him on his rump and sent him off to graze. It’s all very reductive.
With his disparaging view of women, it’s no coincidence that he felt at home in the Army, then — a place women still battle to make their voices heard and their presence felt.
All simplistic, basic views of a young man who, it might be said, has little respect for women as a whole.
Understandable, perhaps, with all the hormones coursing through his veins and no mother there to guide him.
Even a brief encounter with a Page 3 girl was probably his desire to flirt with someone he objectified.
Then again, it would be tricky for any woman to measure up to his mother’s image — she, understandably, was everything to him.
She was revered, a deity, named after a goddess, after all.
No one could surely match her. Which in so many ways made it impossible for any other woman to make an impact on young Harry.
Until, of course, his saviour, Meghan, came along.
Like a dame in shining armour, she arrives, scoops him up and saves him from his life but, more importantly, from himself.
By his own admission, Harry says he was a bigot before he met Meghan and that much is clear from his attitudes and language.
In his new life he’s learned about feminism and equality. So we are led to believe.
And yet, women appear conspicuous by their absence from his life, apart from his wife and daughter, obvs.
He boxes Kate, Princess of Wales, into the “sweet and kind” category — though still swipes at her for stereotyping his wife, and once gripping a chair “so tightly her fingers went white” in a confrontation with Meghan.
He wastes no time or effort in his denigration of his stepmother Camilla.
She’s painted as the “villain” and “dangerous” — nothing short of the wicked stepmum.
She’s branded scheming and manipulative, much in the same way he suggests every woman with whom he came into contact had “throne syndrome” and were fitting themselves for crowns after the first handshake.
Well, not me, Harry. I had no ambition to join the Royal Family just because I had some dates with Prince Edward.
I simply found him to be a rather nice chap.
Nor am I sweet or kind or someone you should objectify.
Women come in all shapes and sizes. We’re not all gold-diggers and we have greater depth than you would have us believe from your life story.
Nor are we either simply godly or evil.
It may be that Meghan has reformed and rehabilitated this previously biased man.
It may be that he’s now a feminist himself, but the evidence is found wanting.
With the exception of Oprah, why were all of Harry’s television interviews with men?
Is it because he still feels more comfortable in their company?
I’m yet to be convinced that Harry has an equal view of men and women.
But I’m sure he’ll try to persuade me in his next book.
’TWAS the season to be jolly. Now’s it’s the season to get divorced.
They say post-Christmas is the busiest time for divorce lawyers.
I’m not sure if it’s an urban myth or the fact the festive season just becomes too highly pressurised for already vulnerable relationships.
In fact, even the most solid, long-lasting unions can falter.
Just this week we found out that Justine Roberts, the founder of Mumsnet – that most popular online forum for middle-class parenting dilemmas – has split from her husband of 25 years after being hit by a “tornado of love” for someone else.
I love that analogy. Lucky girl. If you’re going to leave a relationship of 30 years with four kids involved, you might as well get struck down by a whirlwind of love.
As the poster girl for divorce (I’ve endured three), you would expect me to be in favour of the process.
It’s not that I advocate getting a divorce, but with us all living longer and having multiple serious relationships (often with blended families), we need to accept that separation is going to be part of nearly all our lives.
For years I’ve said that divorce does not have to be seen as a failure, and Justine is saying exactly the same. Hallelujah!
I’ve long argued we need to reframe our view of divorce as the beginning of something new. It can be a positive thing.
Obviously, it’s not without mess and heartbreak, disruption, animosity and arguments.
But there is a world beyond that.
There is no doubt it feels like a hopeless and desperate situation.
But when all that has passed and you are able to let go of the negativity, you start to embrace the idea of a new life.
I should know. I have been there, done that. I practically made the T-shirt.
It doesn’t help, of course, that we are taught marriage is the end game – the ultimate couple’s ambition.
And to compound that, we’re surrounded by images on social media of the “smug married” – the happy, successful, harmonious couples.
In real life, we spend time in the company of couples who appear to be perfect – despite the fact that we never know what goes on behind closed doors.
Marriage is hard. Divorce is really tough. But it’s not a failure.
Sometimes things run their course – people change and grow apart or cross boundaries.
It doesn’t mean you have to stay in an unhappy place.
IT takes two to tango and two to make a relationship work – but some are exploring if it can take three.
Rumour abounds that former boxer David Haye and his girlfriend Sian Osborne are in a “throuple” with The Saturdays star Una Healy.
The three have been pictured on holiday, holding hands and looking very . . . together.
It’s said David and Sian scoured a dating app for a person to add to their relationship as they try new experiences.
Sexual deviation has existed since the beginning of time but there does seem to be more of it around.
Or perhaps people are more willing to share their desires publicly – and with social media there is no shortage of willing partners.
I’m no prude but I am intrigued.
Maybe I’m just an old-fashioned bird who believes a relationship is between two people, as three’s a crowd and no one wants to be the third wheel.
But respect to those people who can enter into such an understanding. Amazing.
More and more people admit they are “bi-curious”. But my favourite term, which is utter cock and bull, is “ethical non-monogamy”.
It does what it says on the tin. It’s ethical, as those involved know there is no monogamy.
Is it just me? Or is it a new woke label plastered on to something actually pretty simple?
Why not just call it by its real name, promiscuity, and say you worship at the altar of sleeping around.
It’s not for me – but go ahead.
DID you hear the one about the nun and the monk who decided to get married just because she loved the feel of his robe?
It’s a cracker. It is one of my favourite romantic stories of all time because it’s real.
Radio 4’s Beyond Belief retold the story of how Sister Mary Elizabeth, who had dedicated decades of her life to God at a convent in Preston, experienced a life-changing moment when Friar Robert arrived on a visit from Oxford in the autumn of 2015.
As he walked past her to leave the room, they accidentally brushed sleeves and that single moment created such a spark, igniting something inside them both, that a week later Friar Robert wrote to her asking her to marry him.
He didn’t even know her birth name OR the colour of her hair.
That jolt of energy created by this “brushing of sleeves” was enough for Sister Mary Elizabeth to leave her convent life behind and pursue love.
Shortly afterwards, they met in the Black Bull pub and later married.
In a world obsessed with dating apps, where the choice is never-ending, I doubt many young people know what the word “romance” means.
And that’s why I’m considering a change of tack when it comes to dating.
I’m wondering whether I shouldn’t just get myself to a nunnery.
Seems the chances of me meeting a romantic man are far greater there . . .
Watch this space.
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